


just be thankful

by armario



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/armario
Summary: A twisted, patchwork family, with distrust and violence seeping through the cracks, but a family nonetheless.





	just be thankful

 In the dimlit basement, Amanda set the table. The wallpaper was peeling and you could hear rats scratching about, but John's general air of satisfaction was enough to tolerate it. 

 Mark wanted to stay out the way, get it over with, felt like he was going to be crushed by the pressure of the happy atmosphere.

 Instead, Logan was making him chop carrots. 

 Having washed blood off his hands only yesterday morning, using them to prepare a _family dinner_  felt surreal. Amanda was hyperactive, kissing people's cheeks to greet them, _ruffling hair_ , wearing this slightly manic sort of smile that made the corner of Mark's mouth twitch. Something he agreed on with Lawrence was that they could never forget why they were here. He didn't want to allow himself to smile. 

 Lawrence wasn't here yet. Mark heard there was a terrible argument between he and John, about frivolity and façade, versus, the importance of... for want of better words, _team bonding_. It made him sick, to think of them as a family, not because the idea was repulsive, but because that was what they were. A twisted, patchwork family, with distrust and violence seeping through the cracks, but a family nonetheless. 

 He had nowhere else to be for the occasion, but he would never have suggested this. The only reason he was here was that John wanted him to be. It was a good chance for the others to get to know each other, or relax, or have a shot at recreating the traditions of their old lives. If anything went wrong or anyone needed help, Mark was there. John wanted him there, which is what he kept telling himself. 

 Logan interrupted his train of thought with a sharp gasp, clutching at his hand. A thin line of red had slashed its way across his palm. It was hard to work out how that happened, but wordlessly, Mark went to the cupboard and passed him a roll of bandage.   
Logan smiled. He had this smile that lit up his whole face, because he never smiled unless it was genuine. Lawrence and Amanda and John smiled frequently, sometimes mocking, sometimes knowing, other times pitiful. 

 A small commotion upstairs notified them that Lawrence had arrived. Curious, Mark went to the door to observe them. Like she had with everyone else, Amanda leant up, pulling him down slightly, to kiss Lawrence's cheek. He smiled at her like he hadn't raged over being forced to attend. 

 If Lawrence and Amanda were putting aside their differences, Mark thought he should make the effort. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He just kept the comforting weight of the knife in his hand and sliced through vegetables like bone. 

 Lawrence helped John to sit down at the table. He was at the head of the table, Lawrence on his right, Amanda at his left, Mark beside her, and Logan beside Lawrence. There were some candles, flickering. 

 There was to be no talk of horror and death today. It was a freakish little masquerade in which they pretended to be normal. 

 The food was good, Logan was a good cook. Mark built up little profiles of all of them, and that would be noted. 

 John said something about being thankful. He didn't hear exactly what it was, too busy watching who he looked at as he said it. He kept chewing each mouthful as many times as possible so he wouldn't have to speak.   
Then they started talking to him. 

 "So where did you learn to cook?" Amanda asked, laughing. It was an innocent question but it threw him into hell. It took every ounce of his strength not to look up at John and plead with his eyes, _help me, say something._  He kept chewing, thinking, how to answer, feeling them staring at him. And then he felt tears just about to come. He set down his fork. 

 "My sister," Mark answered. "Excuse me."

 It made him realize that it was all some sort of set up to try and include him. They wanted him to socialize or something equally mundane and absurd and utterly impossible for him. 

 The walk away from the table up to the upper floor, out of the door and into the street, was the longest he ever felt.   
It was a quiet, cold night. His harsh breaths puffed icy cold air, and he dragged his knuckles against the rough brickwork to ground himself. 

 His hands shook. He delicately pressed a sleeve to his eyes and let the wind do the rest, drying the evidence of his upset. He needed a drink. Just then, the only thing he needed was a drink, or Angelina to tell him it's all been a long, long dream. 

 Instead what he got was Logan, leaning against the wall next to him. Ever observant, the pathologist took his wrist and inspected his bloody hand. He didn't say anything about it. 

 Logan took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Eyes narrowed, Mark watched him light up and take a long drag. 

 "John will kill you," Mark said.

 Logan laughed. He offered it, which Mark took. 

 There wasn't much else to remember from that night. Eventually, all four of them stood in the street, sharing cigarettes and no words. There was some unnameable experience they were going through together that linked them forever.

 On that revelation, Mark stubbed out the cigarette, and went to finish his meal. Only then did he look up at John, who subtly lifted his glass.  
 

**Author's Note:**

> *everyone scurries to rewrite Logan into their fics*


End file.
